by Robert Rigby
NINE
Rivel was just eighteen kilometres from Lavelanet. Approached along a road flanked on either side by lines of plane trees, it was quiet and unremarkable.
In the summer months, villagers would be out early, walking to one or other of the two shops, or perhaps both, or tending patches of garden, with their crops of leeks and garlic, peppers and tomatoes. By the middle of the day, when the sun was at its strongest, the shutters on the windows would be pulled to and the few narrow streets would be deserted, the inhabitants of Rivel lingering within the cool stone walls of their houses, waiting for the heat to pass.
Rivel was like many other sleepy southern French villages – save for one thing. On its outskirts, just away from the muddle of streets and alleyways and houses, on the road leading to the nearby town of Chalabre, was a camp. Four long, low buildings sat in an open area surrounded on all sides by a high barbed-wire fence. And there, around two hundred and fifty prisoners waited anxiously to discover their fate.
Didier Brunet had pulled his motorbike off the road into the shade of the trees. He stood in the shadows, hidden from the road and the eyes of the guards, less than a hundred metres away. Josette was at his side. They watched the prisoners, dressed in dull brown uniforms, walking lethargically in circles around the open area. More were inside the long huts, doing what they could to avoid the baking sun.
“Who are they?” Josette asked, peering towards the camp.
“Many of them are Germans,” Didier replied.
Josette wheeled around, her eyes flashing. “If that’s supposed to be a joke, then it’s not funny.”
“Calm down,” Didier said quietly. “It’s not a joke; it’s true.”
“But how can they be Germans?”
Didier gestured for Josette to follow him and they walked a little further from the road and sat at the base of a tree. “They’re Germans and Austrians who were living in France when the war started. The government thought they might be spies for the Nazis, so they rounded them up and put them in camps like this one.”
“Then why haven’t they been released? The Germans rule us now.”
“It’s not quite as simple as that,” Didier answered. “The new government and their German friends have decided that because these men were living in France before the war, they might be anti-Nazi in fact. So they have to stay in prison.”
“But that’s crazy.”
“This whole war is crazy.”
Didier leaned against the tree, tilting his head back so that the warmth of the sun touched his face. “And things have changed recently. It’s no longer just Germans and Austrians inside the camps, it’s Frenchmen too.”
“Who are they? Criminals?”
“Our new government and the Nazis would tell you they’re criminals,” Didier replied with a short laugh. “In reality it’s anyone they think might possibly cause them a problem. Democrats, trade unionists, communists, anyone suspected of being involved in any sort of protest or resistance.” He lowered his head, out of the sunlight, and the shadows gave a serious and worried look to his usually bright face. “That’s why you have to be careful; it won’t only be men they put in these camps.”
Josette breathed hard. “Is that why you brought me here?”
“I brought you here to show you what’s happening in our country. And to remind you that you’re playing with fire if you get too close to people like Jean-Pierre Dilhat.”
“Jean-Pierre is a patriot!” Josette snapped.
“Oh, yes, he’s a patriot all right,” Didier snapped back, “I don’t doubt that. But he’s a fool if he goes around talking about it constantly.”
“Someone has to bring people together to fight back.”
“Oh, Josette, you are so naive!”
They were both almost shouting. Josette stood up and started walking towards the motorbike. “Better than doing nothing, or just sitting back and waiting for someone else to act for you. And, anyway, why do you care?”
Didier leapt to his feet. “Because…”
Josette stopped and turned back. “Yes?”
After all his earlier confidence, Didier was tongue-tied again. “Because…”
“Because what?”
They stared at each other, Josette silently challenging Didier to answer.
Finally he did. “You … you know I … I like you.”
Suddenly Josette felt terribly guilty. She’d teased and taunted Didier again and she knew it wasn’t fair. “I … I’m sorry, Didier.”
“What for?”
Now it was Josette’s turn to be lost for words. “I … I…”
“Come on, say what you have to say.”
“I like you too, Didier, but…” Her voice trailed away.
“You don’t want me as a boyfriend,” Didier said. “Is that it?”
Josette looked at the ground, but nodded her head.
“Is there someone you prefer?”
“No,” Josette said quickly.
“Then is it because of your brother? You feel it’s too soon to have a boyfriend? We’ve never spoken about it, but you know how sorry—”
“It’s not about my brother, Didier.”
They stood in awkward silence. “But you let me ask your father if I could take you out today,” Didier said at last. “Your mother made us a picnic.”
“Because I like you as a friend! I told my mother this morning, when she was asking about you. I said, ‘Yes, I do like Didier, but not…’”
Her voice trailed away once more and Didier filled in the missing words. “As a boyfriend.”
Josette nodded. “I’m sorry. But anyway, this isn’t a time for boyfriends. I can only think of France.”
Didier laughed loudly. “You sound like Joan of Arc.”
“Are you making fun of me?” Josette said, her eyes flashing once more and her cheeks reddening.
“No,” Didier said, his face instantly serious. “I know better than to make fun of you, Josette Mazet.”
“Good.” They stared at each other for a few moments before Josette continued. “And I’m glad I told you this, to make things clear.”
“If you say so,” Didier answered. “It isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Walk back through the trees with me; there’s something else in the camp you should see.”
They went through the dappled shade of the overhead canopy. The camp sat on a wide, flat expanse of land, and in the distance, on all sides, were tree-covered hills.
“Take away the camp and it would be a beautiful view, wouldn’t it?” Didier said.
Josette nodded.
“The hills are full of wildlife. Foxes, deer, wild boar; they all roam freely, while down there human beings are kept caged and trapped.” He pointed with one extended arm. “You see that small building, near the fence closest to the road? That’s the jail.”
“What do you mean? They’re all prisoners; the whole place is a jail.”
“But that hut is special,” Didier said. “If a prisoner breaks the rules or does something to upset the guards, he’s locked in there for punishment. Solitary confinement. And I don’t see any windows, do you? Can you imagine what it must be like on a hot summer’s day like today?”
Josette fixed her gaze on the small, windowless building. “Who are the guards?”
“Gendarmes,” Didier said. “And a couple of newly commissioned army officers are actually in charge of the place. I hear they’ve started locking up French Jews as well now. I don’t know how they fit them all in.”
“How did you hear?” Josette asked, turning to Didier. “How do you know all this?”
“I make it my business to know,” he said softly. “That way I can stay out of trouble.”
Josette stared hard at Didier, trying to read his thoughts. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Didier laughed. “You know everything now. Oh, but there is one more thing. I’m not giving up on you, Josette. Just because you don�
�t want me as a boyfriend at the moment, it doesn’t mean you’ll feel the same in the future.”
“Didier…”
“Shall we have our picnic? I’m hungry.”
Josette smiled. “Yes, we’ll have our…” She stopped and turned back to look at the camp. “But not here; it wouldn’t be right. Let’s go somewhere else.”
TEN
Paul and Albert were ahead of schedule when they tied up the Marina at the agreed rendezvous point. After that, all they could do was be ready for a swift changeover when the new contact arrived.
Albert would reveal nothing about him beforehand. “Just in case something unfortunate has happened and our plan has been uncovered,” he said. “Remember, you can’t tell someone what you don’t know.”
Paul’s small case was packed but kept hidden in the secret locker as they waited.
“Just in case,” Albert had said again.
Baron, too, seemed to know that Paul was about to leave. When Paul went to stroke him behind the ear, the cat jumped up from his chair, slunk around the back of the pot-bellied stove and remained there.
“He does that when it’s very cold,” Albert said. “Or when he’s unhappy.”
The minutes ticked by, and the tension grew as the rendezvous hour passed. Finally they heard a vehicle approach and stop at the canal side.
Albert pulled back the curtain and peered through the window. “He’s here; I was starting to worry. We must move fast now, Paul.” He fetched the case from its hiding place, looked at Paul for a long moment and then wrapped his arms around him. “Good luck, my young friend,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Thank you for everything, Albert,” Paul replied. He took the case and glanced towards the stove. “Are you going to say goodbye, Baron?”
Baron didn’t stir.
“Come and say farewell to Paul, Baron,” Albert called gently. “It may be a long time until we meet again.”
There was still no movement, but then Baron’s large head appeared from behind the stove, his eyes fixed on Paul. Slowly his great body emerged and he padded noiselessly across the floorboards and rubbed himself against Paul’s trouser leg.
Paul reached down and stroked the cat behind his ears, setting off the loud and familiar purring. “Goodbye, Baron. Look after yourself, and Albert too.”
“Come, we must go,” Albert said.
He led the way up the steps and Paul followed, out onto the deck and swiftly off the Marina onto the canal side. Paul was caught by surprise at his first sight of the man leaning against a small black Renault.
He was younger than Albert, probably in his early forties, of average height and build, with steel-grey hair swept back from his craggy face. Most unexpectedly, he was dressed in priest’s robes. He gave a smiling nod of acknowledgment as Albert and Paul approached, and held out his hand to the Marina’s skipper.
“It’s good to see you again, my old friend. How was your journey?”
“Eventful,” Albert said as they shook hands. “Paul will tell you about it later, no doubt.” He turned to Paul. “This is Father Lagarde; he will keep you safe. Just don’t let him bore you to death with his stories of racing cars. And certainly don’t believe any of them!”
The priest turned his smiling face and striking blue eyes to Paul. “I’m very happy to meet you, Paul, but we must leave immediately. There are German patrols on the roads. I had to take a longer route than planned. That’s why I am a little late.”
“Go, then,” Albert said, urging Paul towards the car. “We can’t stand around here in the open.”
“Goodbye, Albert,” Paul said quickly, before climbing inside the Renault. Father Lagarde started up the car, and Paul gave a smile and a nod to Albert, who nodded in return, raising his hand in a final farewell. As the car moved slowly away from the canal side, Paul didn’t look back.
For the next twenty minutes they drove in silence, Father Lagarde sensing that his passenger needed time to gather his thoughts. The Renault chugged sedately along through quiet villages, deep in the Belgian countryside, close to the border with Germany. Paul smiled as he remembered what Albert had said about Father Lagarde’s stories of racing cars. At that moment, the priest appeared content to drive little faster than the Marina had moved at top speed.
“Did you really drive racing cars?” Paul asked eventually.
“Not just drove them, I raced them.”
Father Lagarde glimpsed his look of doubt. “Paul,” he said, very seriously. “I’m a priest; I don’t tell lies.”
Paul laughed. He was taking another step into the unknown with another stranger, but the priest was obviously doing his best to make him feel at ease, just as Albert had.
“Where are we going?” Paul asked.
Father Lagarde was French Belgian, from the south of the country, but until then, like Albert, he had spoken in Flemish, the language of the north.
“I think it would be best if we spoke in French from now on, Paul,” he said, speaking in his own first language. “It will help get you used to thinking in French all the time.”
“Of course,” Paul answered in French.
“We’re going to the town where I live,” Father Lagarde continued. “It’s little more than a large village really. And as it’s Sunday, the busiest day of my week, I have to say mass this evening. Normally, I would be encouraging you to join us, but I think it’s wisest if you stay hidden until later.”
“And then what?” Paul asked.
Father Lagarde was silent for a few moments, then changed the subject. “The Bugatti Type 35,” he said, “was the greatest racing car ever built. You’ve heard of it, of course?”
Paul shook his head. “I don’t know much about motor cars.”
“That’s a pity,” the priest replied. “Everyone should know about cars; they are the future of transport, you mark my words. One day, we’ll all own a car; every family. And there will be roads built specially for them, criss-crossing every country. One day you will own a car, Paul. What do you think of that?”
Paul shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never really thought about it. I did have a two-stroke motorcycle when I was in Antwerp.”
Father Lagarde sighed, trying not to look too disappointed. “It’s a start, I suppose.”
They drove slowly through another village, passing a few elderly men sitting on a bench. They waved as the Renault went by and Father Lagarde waved back.
“Do you know them?” Paul asked.
“No, but as there aren’t many cars out here in the country side, it’s a novelty for people when they see one go by. That’s also why I’m driving so slowly. At this speed, if we meet a German patrol, they’ll see I’m a priest and probably just wave me on my way. That’s what usually happens. If I was driving faster it might be different.”
The road curved sharply to the right before it left the village and Father Lagarde dropped a gear before starting the turn.
“Blast!” the priest hissed as the Renault rounded the bend.
Fifty metres ahead, a German infantryman was standing with his back to them in the middle of the road.
Father Lagarde began to slow the vehicle, but the soldier had already heard the engine. As the car approached, he turned around and raised his right arm, with the flat of his hand opened towards them a clear order to stop.
“Doesn’t look as though this one’s going to wave you on,” Paul breathed.
“I must do as he signals,” Father Lagarde said. “Do you see the motorbike by the side of the road? If I turn and drive off he’ll catch me in seconds. We’ll have to bluff it out.”
The Renault came to a standstill a few metres from the soldier.
Father Lagarde switched off the engine and they waited for the soldier to approach. But he didn’t. He stood perfectly still, studying both occupants of the vehicle closely, one hand on the shoulder strap of his rifle.
As he caught the man’s eye, Paul calmly smiled and n
odded, and after a moment’s hesitation, the soldier smiled and nodded in return before turning his back on them.
“Of course,” Father Lagarde said quietly. “It’s a crossroads. He’s not here to check vehicles, just to stop them. Wind down your window a little.”
Paul did as instructed and after no more than a minute they heard the sound of heavy traffic approaching. Almost instantly a long convoy of German vehicles, heading northwards, crossed in front of them. Lorries, some packed with troops, others with supplies, armoured vehicles, tank carriers, trucks pulling field guns; the procession took several minutes to go by.
When the last vehicle had finally passed and the cloud of dust had cleared, the soldier turned back and indicated to Father Lagarde that he could drive on. The priest needed no second invitation. He started up the Renault and pulled away, giving the soldier a nod and a wave.
They cleared the village and moved onto a long, desolate stretch of narrow road. With nothing more than the occasional tree on either side, Father Lagarde obviously felt it was safe to increase their speed, so he put his foot down on the accelerator. The road was bumpy and uneven but he drove confidently, and was clearly in complete control.
“You stayed very calm, Paul,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
Paul didn’t respond, but thought back to the encounter with the German soldier. He had been tense, he realized, but not scared; anxious, but ready for whatever followed. A few days earlier it might have been different, but not now. So much had changed, including Paul himself.
He turned to Father Lagarde. “Does that mean you trust me enough to tell me what happens tonight?”
The priest considered for a moment and then smiled. “Yes, Paul, it does. Tonight, I’m driving you into France.”
ELEVEN
It was nearing midnight and the silent streets of the small Belgian town where Father Lagarde lived were brilliantly illuminated under a canopy of stars.
Father Lagarde looked up and spoke in little more than a whisper. “Not perfect for travelling unobserved, but useful if I have to drive without lights.”